


Some Kind of Wonderful

by hintofaspark



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bonfires, Castiel Has a Crush on Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has a Crush on Castiel, Fluff, Football Games, Friends to Lovers, John and Mary are good parents, M/M, Neighbors, No Gay Panic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining Castiel, Sleepovers, Slow Build, Summer Romance, Truth or Dare, angst but not really, cas and sam are best friends, castiel is such a dramatic teenager, lots and lots of fluff, luna parks, this is just a really unproblematic fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 10:13:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15727326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hintofaspark/pseuds/hintofaspark
Summary: It’s how summer works, y’know.Falling in love is kinda part of the deal.Or, the one where Castiel is: maybe crushing on his best friend's brother, a bit dramatic about life and definitly oblivious to everything else.





	Some Kind of Wonderful

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is 6k of summer fluff. Probably going to be 10k of summer fluff soon.  
> I just needed them to be cute and happy for once, alright?  
> Enjoy the ride and don't let Castiel's overdramatic ways lead you astray, this is as unproblematic as it can get!  
> Oh! And Sam is to start sophomore year of high school, Castiel junior year and Dean just graduated!  
> So it would be a two years age gap between Dean and Cas.

Summer always breaks my heart.

Blooming earth and looming soul, they say-

They say it’s always brightest before the dark.

I remember wood under my knees; sweat sticking at my skin as I tried to get close, closer. Just a look, a mere glimpse, stolen as the air dried in one too many Kansas afternoons: the sun watching me, me watching him.

The first time-

The first time he spoke to me I barely registered it, so used to that very same voice being distant and vague, like a tequila-induced dream.

I’d never liked the taste of it against my lips- as Gabriel tried to force it down my throat with empty promises of adventures.

This time, though, this time his voice had felt like whiskey and honey all swirled inside one glass.

That, I’d thought, I could have enjoyed.

“You’re the kid next door, aren’t you?”

I am.

From that very same window hidden by the roof, glimpsing on your room, I could have said.

I nodded, instead.

That close, I could count his freckles.

“Cool.”

-

The Winchester household seeped nothing if not warmth.

From its tan walls to the soft, worn leather couch to whatever smell radiated from Mary’s kitchen- more often than not, it was pie.

“I was thinking of asking her out” Sam blurted, too quick not to notice the uncertainty behind it.

“Jess,” he clarified “I could ask her out, what do you think?”

“Oh.” I replied, ever so eloquently.

He kept looking at me, expectantly.

“I think it’s a great idea, Sam.”

“Do you think she’s going to say yes?”

It was so weird, in such moments, to think that this was Dean Winchester’s brother.

Dean with his string of conquests and a flirty grin always gracing his features.

Despite being younger, though, Sam carried a certain wisdom with him, one that had never failed to reassure me in the early stage of our friendship, when I’d feared to come across as apathetic, or intense- no in between; his kindness, now I knew, was beyond his age as well, and perhaps beyond this time- I was positive no one would ever dare to turn down his affections.

“I am almost certain.”

He offered an easy smile, then winced.

“Only almost?”

I was about to laugh, when-

“Almost what?”

There was a time, when I wondered if my gravitating closer around Dean would maybe result in a lack of leaping heart whenever I heard his voice. I waited patiently, for years, for it to happen.

He ruffled Sam’s hair, who softly growled at him.

“Dean! Aren’t you supposed to be at practice?”

He shrugged, clutching an apple between his fingers.

 “Bobby had a last minute family emergency. I texted Jo, nothing serious, but I’m off the hook.”

He eyed me, then, eyes crinkling slightly with a smile: “Heya, Cas.”

Sunlight poured onto the kitchen floor, catching the hair below his knees, so fair to be barely visible.

“Hello, Dean.”

He took a bite.

“So, what are we talking about?”

Sam rolled his eyes, sighing.

“ _We_ were talking about nothing.”

“C’mon, Sammy. Is it a girl? It’s definitely a girl, you’re blushing.”

“I am not!”

He laughed, then, full and ungraceful against the apple. I had always found Dean attractive, but in those stolen moments, one could not describe him as anything but beautiful.

“Who is she?”

Sam sighed, capitulating.

“Jessica Moore, she’s a freshman so it’s not like you’d know her.”

“Hey now, I know plenty of freshmen. She’s the blonde one in your nerd class, right? She’s pretty.”

“It’s World History. And me and Cas don’t count.”

“I also know that Kevin kid, and Jo. And Cas is gonna be a junior this year, so he makes two.”

“That’s _so_ not how it works.”

Dean’s apple was thrown in the trash, as he sauntered off shouldering his brother: “Bitch.”

Sam called after him: “Jerk!”

-

About my teenage years, I remember feeling inadequate, always.

I remember thinking- this isn’t for me, and looking at the road, knowing so little, and musing about how whether or not I’d be there for the next comet passing through: how it wouldn’t have cared, if it had my eyes burning.

Or-

or thinking how I was just like it, unfathomable and untouchable and so very pleasing to look at, nobody really cared I was bursting in flames.

“What’s this thing called, again?”

There was grass grazing my legs, warm air against my face and everything around-

Everything around smelled of expectations.

Dean Winchester smelled of promises.

“A comet?”

He chuckled, bumped my shoulder.

“I meant, does it have a name? Like Halley or whatever.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

A beat.

“It doesn’t, I’m afraid.”

He offered me an easy grin.

“We should give it one, then?”

Another beat.

In the background, Sam and Jess were sharing tender glances; Benny had arrived with a cooler full of soda and Ash in tow.

Someone called him, hollering crass, amicable words in his general direction.

“You do that, and you let me know, alright?”

Before I could even blink, he was gone.

And I wondered-

I wondered how much time would pass before he broke my sky again.

-

There was this place on the outskirts of town, half diner half amusement park.

The catch was, it had closed nearly ten years prior.

Still, benches and tables and old rides lied scattered across the land.

The sign at the opening read _Heaven_ in faded letters.

It wasn’t that far from the cemetery, so maybe someone had thought it funny- clever, even.

Looking back, morbid would have been more accurate, or a reckless marketing strategy at the very least.

It felt thrilling, though, when someone told you, winking, they would see you in Heaven.

“You can’t mope around the whole summer, man.”

Sam sighed, head low and hands drowning in his pockets.

“You don’t get it, Kev.”

“I do. I’m sorry Jess had to move, but there’s not much you can do about it. Except for letting it ruin your summer.”

But he whined, insistently.

“We had just started dating!”

“That’s good! Imagine if you were in love with her.”

Sam mumbled, barely audible: “What if I was already?”

Kevin halted, stopping Sam as well with a hand on his shoulder and a serious expression on his face.

“Dude,” he said “not even you can fall in love in under a month. That’s just unhealthy.”

I chuckled, then.

“See! Even Cas agrees!”

Sam threw me a glance that spelled betrayal.

“Look,” Kevin said, gesturing toward the redhead approaching us “there’s Charlie, maybe _she_ can cheer you up.”

Charlie Bradbury, self-crowned queen of our little town and each and every heart she encountered, was a whirlwind of positive, bubbling, too smart for her own good energy.

“What’s up, bitches?”

“Lover boy here needs to loosen up, your majesty.”

She briefly looked in my direction with searching, inquisitive eyes.

Too smart for her own good. I never took the title lightly.

“I don’t need that” Sam lamented.

She threw an arm across his shoulders.

“What do you say” she whispered conspiratorially “you help us with the bonfire?”

“A what?” Kevin shrieked, “You can’t do that here, it’s ten kinds of illegal.”

She threw him a smirk, then shrugged: “C’mon, Kev, loosen up.”

He huffed in annoyance, but agreed to help collect the logs.

“Why don’t you go, too, Cas? While Winchester junior here and I have a little chat.”

Sam growled a short-lived protest, before being dragged away.

The thing with these bonfires, you see, was that someone always sneaked away.

Like that time Benny and Pamela almost fell off the ferry wheel, too preoccupied in each other to notice how a decade old boot is not an ideal place to go get your rocks off.

Or when Gordon Walker was found drunk and snoring the evening away in what little remained of the haunted house, after being dared to go in.

Or when Dean chased after Lisa Braeden’s skirt, not bothering to come back a minute earlier than when he’d have to take Sam back home.

Bu they were nice, for some time, when everyone had just started drinking and singing whatever cheesy hit they could think of.

Or when they would exchange stories and make them up and just-

Just leaned against whoever their heart was set on, because they could, because they were young, because it was supposed to be _that_ easy.

“I swear, if I have to hear _another_ horror story that ends up with Coach Singer’s hairy ass I’m gonna punch you, Ash.”

“C’mon, Victor, live a little!”

“Alright, alright. I’ll take the wheel, no more of Singer’s ass, I swear.”

Everyone settled in their seats, cozying to Benny’s southern drawl; he had that sort of intonation, an inclination towards dramaturgic storytelling, I’d say; he could read off a supermarket list and make it an enjoyable experience.

“You know how this place is called Heaven, and nobody really knows why. We make assumptions, sure, but the truth, you see… They say there was this guy travelling across the country years ago, eventually settled here in Kansas, he used to say- it was as close to home as he could get. He strolled in here on an ol’ Chevrolet Impala, a full beard and haunted eyes- you could tell, he’d seen things, that one. Not necessarily all pleasing, too.

Eventually people started talking, guy didn’t even have a place to sleep, some said he didn’t. And he was- he was a bit all over the place, ya know. Wicked smart, mind you, seemed to have a word on anything, but he would tell stories, sometimes, about his family, these two men who supposedly had saved the world.

And when you asked him, _from what_?

He’d just look at you, all bleary eyed and obvious, _Satan_ \- like he was talking ‘bout the weather.

Other times, though, he would talk ‘bout one of them in particular, recounting all the things that had him falling.

Some thought, as in _falling in love_ , others dared say he was being a bit more literal.

He stuck around here for a bit, bought this place, renamed it Heaven.

When asked, he’d say ‘t was a good compromise.

Years later, there was a storm, all lightning and shit, one so bright they thought it had destroyed this place, but when they got here in the morning, ‘t was just as they had left it, except-

Except there was no owner in sight, just black, burnt dust everywhere.”

He hushed, shrugged.

“Nobody’s seen him since.”

Not a peep, not one for several moments.

Damn Benny.

“Damn, LaFitte. What the fuck? That was fucking deep, man.”

The boy merely rolled his eyes, hid a knowing smirk behind a gulp of beer.

“Yeah, well, it would be great if we didn’t know it’s bullshit.”

Pam chimed in: “Shut up, Gordon.”

“What? It’s true! Y’all know ‘bout that Chuck guy, a weird little dude with a taste for alcohol and too much time and money on his hands. Hell, you called it when he eloped with Ms. Rosen, Barnes!”

She shrugged: “You’re still a bitter spoilsport.”

The air moved into the night, and someone dropped beside me.

“Hey, buddy.”

Bickering chitchat noise in the background.

“Hello, Dean.”

He grinned, turning his attention to the group.

“C’mon, Walker. You’re only afraid he’s gonna get all the girls swooning this way.”

“Hey, now, brother,” interjected Benny “we all know what really gets the ladies are these baby blues.”

Dean played along, winking: “Not only the ladies.”

“Damn right.” Benny grumbled in a fit of laugher.

The night bled away, and I spent it looking for black dust under the soles of my shoes.

-

There was an antique shop in town.

 _The Deal_ , filled with artefacts so obscure, you could not possibly tell if they were trash or treasures.

It was owned by a middle aged, Scottish gentleman, who only ever hired during summertime, when his mother flew all the way from Europe to see him. Every kid had worked there at least once, since he wouldn’t accept anyone who wasn’t between the age of fifteen and eighteen.

“At that age, you don’t care about a damn thing,” he used to say, “so you won’t be caring about _mine_.”

No more than a few weeks though, mindful of someone getting attached.

I had managed to secure two weeks between June and July, five hours each morning, nine to one.

They were slow days, static even. If not from the soft lyrics coming from an old radio Crowley kept behind the counter.

It played jazz, mostly.

I liked jazz.

“I don’t care how much he pays you. _This_ is still hell.”

I rolled my eyes, tapped the pen a few more times against the counter.

“Not that much, actually, but I don’t mind it to be honest.”

She snickered: “Of course you don’t.”

“Why are you even here? I thought your hatred was mutual. If I get in trouble for this, I’m charging you.”

“I’m hurt, Clarence, I thought you enjoyed my little visits.”

I smirked: “You’re distracting me, Meg.”

She scanned the place, empty as it had been for the last half hour, cocked an eyebrow: “From what?”

I sighed, tapping restlessly, now.

“But speaking of distractions, I saw the golden boy, coming in. He was parking at the Roadhouse, could be headed here, next.”

“What for?”

She winked: “Laundry?”

I rolled my eyes, but felt warmth spreading all over my face.

The bell chimed, and Meg threw me one last devilish grin.

“See you, Clarence.”

As Dean Winchester walked, I knew, in that moment, that _that_ inconsistent and uneventful image would be how I would always remember him: framed by dusty sunlight, smelling of leather and engine and sweat, shirt dirty on the collar and bashful, open grin. Kind eyes.

Years later, I’d realize it was a good memory to come back to.

“Morning, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

“You got something for me?”

I blinked, confused: “Uh.”

“Sorry, Bobby sent me here, said Crowley had something for him.”

“Oh. In that case, you’ll have to come back when he’s here. He handles all hand delivered business himself, keeps the packages in a storage I don’t have access to.”

Dean groaned, hand passing over his face tiredly.

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged: “Not your fault. Just bummed I came all the way here for nothing.”

That stung.

A bit.

Like that angry bee in my backyard when I was eight: despite the pain, I couldn’t really blame it for not knowing better.

Same principle, just right there.

And then.

He scrubbed his neck, threw me a smirk.

“Well, not for nothing, maybe.”

I held my breath.

“What are you doing later, Cas?”

-

At age twelve, I had been convinced Meg Master was the (almost) love of my life.

 _Almost_ being imperative.

I’d met her a few years prior, as she sat by the playground terrorizing the underclassmen chasing after grasshoppers.

“They’re playing with _bugs_ , they kinda deserve it.”

She was raw, rude, unapologetic and unbelievably beautiful.

She also wasn’t lonely, she’d said, just bored, and did not _need_ any friends, but chose me as one anyways.

And that was it, I think.

Reckless, incredible, talk-of-the-school Meg had picked me, among a crowd of kids, to be her friend. Not because she needed to, not because I was the new kid everyone sort of felt sorry for, not because she had a crush on one of my siblings, but because she had wanted to.

I did not act on it, not at first at least, didn’t even fully comprehend the strong desire to feel closer, cover her lips and her hands with my lips and my hands.

It was overwhelming, even more so when Sam’s two-weeks romance with her little sister crushed and burned: it had been Sam’s first heartbreak, and I was determined not to burden him with my problems as well.

Asking help to any of my brothers had been out of question, especially after receiving the birds and bees talk from Gabriel.

Unacceptable.

Anna, maybe- the thing with Anna, tough, was that she firmly believed that anyone could be capable of anything if they put their whole heart in it, and while it had always worked in her favor, I’d noticed life tended to go easier on fierce, confident, capable redheads.

I knew what she would have told me: to stop feeling sorry for myself, that _anyone would be so lucky to be loved by you, Castiel. I would know._

I knew, but somehow, hearing it in my head wasn’t as effective as letting her voice lull me into the realm of possibilities.

So I asked, and then I acted.

There was an old, disused railway bridge skirting upon the river across town.

A place no twelve year old should be, but this was Meg, and rules didn’t really apply to her.

Besides, we had an in.

“Look at you, Cassy, all grown up and ready to jump.”

Balthazar snickered, and I rolled my eyes.

“I remember when you were just a kid, strolling around in a ravenclaw pajamas.”

“I thought you bought that last week.” Meg chimed in.

Balthazar grinned: “Exactly.”

I huffed, glared at them: “You know, just because you’re Gabriel’s best friend doesn’t mean you have to be as insufferable as him.”

“And where would the fun be, then?”

“Speaking of the devil.” Meg murmured.

“Just so you know,” Gabriel said, “I’m actually named after an archangel, you little hell munchkin.”

She rolled her eyes, unaffected.

“Okay, rugrats, let’s get over this one more time. Just because I agreed to snoop you in doesn’t mean I trust you to do this right.”

“Oh, for crap’s sake, it’s just a stupid jump.”

“Just a-? I swear, I’m gonna throw you off this bridge myself. _This_ is a tradition I worked hard to establish, so _you_ are going to follow _my_ rules. The game is simple: you jump, but before you do you have to do or scream something you’ve never had the guts to before. Like, scream at the sky your daddy issues or whatever, I don’t care, but it needs to feel _liberating_. And then: you fly.”

Balthazar chuckled: “You’re so overdramatic.”

“You’re one to talk, Hamlet. Alright, couple extras for you dwarves: no yelling obscenities, no funny business, no jerking around in the river, the guys going before you are gonna wait and take you out immediately because, if you drown, Anna is going to have my head for breakfast and my balls for dinner, _capisce_? And obviously, for the love of God, don’t go around telling I actually made you do this, or _I_ will have your head on my plate. Covered in melting chocolate.”

So, obviously, when the time came, I kissed Meg- just, I made the mistake of not jumping right away, of turning to her, and glimpse at the look she was wearing: like I had just broke her heart.

I didn’t realize it, then, but in a way, I did.

It only lasted one second, though, before she smirked, grabbed my hand and jumped with me.

That was the genesis, apotheosis and death of my love affair with Margaret Rachel Masters.

I loved her.

She loved me.

We just were never meant to fall.

Years later, as I would, I’d realize it had been for the best, for when you do, you’re most likely to never get up again.

-

Sam was not there, was the first thing I noticed, nor was any other of my close friends.

Charlie was, though.

And Benny, who I liked well enough.

Gordon was too, acting like an asshole; nothing new.

“You brought a kid? Why’d you bring a kid?”

I glared: “I’m barely two years younger than you. And will probably graduate before you do anyways, so I don’t think the _only seniors_ rule applies.”

Gordon stomped, but the others chuckled.

“Well, he told it like it is, Walker” Dean said, “besides, kid worked for Crowley all day, he needs a break.”

I winced a little.

“So, I guess you know how this works. Family heritage and all that jazz?”

I shrugged: “Not really, I’ve only been once. But I do remember the rules.”

Undress.

Act or Shout.

Dive.

Everything was a buzz from then on, people arguing over who should go first, and Benny and Ash trying to shove each other off the bridge before their time was due.

In the whirlwind of clothes and friendly mocking, I noticed a redhead in a bright blue one piece approach me.

“So, look who’s joining us, the legacy himself.”

“I doubt Gabriel would consider me one, Charlie.”

“Yeah well, I think I prefer you to that trickster. How’s he doing in college anyways?”

“He dropped off.”

She stared at me, gaping: “No. Way! What did Mr. G say?”

“He wasn’t very pleased, obviously, but he couldn’t exactly force him to stay.”

“I bet he could have. You dad is intimidating as fuck, dude.”

I just shrugged: “I guess.”

“So what’s he doing now?”

“Backpacking across Europe? Hustling pool in Honk Hong? Working as a stripper in Rio? Who knows, last I heard of him he was in Monaco _having a great time_. But it’s Gabriel, so it could mean everything.” I said with a fond smile.

Charlie laughed: “Man, your family is bonkers. Why did he even quit anyways?”

I shrugged: “Said something about finding his true call, I’m sure it was either pastry or porn, but I didn’t catch which.”

Someone snorted behind us: it was Dean, late afternoon sunlight pouring over his chest.

I did not stare. I did not.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to overhear, but we’re ready if you wanna, y’know.”

He gestured to the border general direction, where Pam was already lined up and ready to jump.

I shivered unconsciously, slightly enough that if anyone noticed they would have thought it was because of the wind.

Or not.

A warm weight on my shoulder, Dean leaning in. “You alright? You don’t have to if you don’t wanna.”

I smiled at him.

He was there, of course I would. Of course I wanted to.

“I’m fine.”

Pam went uneventfully, shouting something about getting a new, secret tattoo.

Then there was Benny who used to sneeze on rude costumer’s food at his parents’ place, Ash and Charlie and illegal hacking, which didn’t really surprise anyone.

Dean confessed to a prank Bobby blamed Ash for, then jumped.

When I flew towards the water, screaming inconsistencies, it was with feathery carelessness.

As I resurfaced, the first thing I saw was Dean’s smile, broad and beautiful.

“You all good, there? Still in one piece?”

I breathed hard: “Sure.”

He raised an eyebrow, moved closer.

I frowned: “I’m not a kid, you know. I don’t need to be looked after.”

His smirk just widened “You sure? Lots of dangers in these waters, something might just grab you, and-”

And.

And then I was under, head below the water and Dean’s hands sliding across my shoulders, squeezing to keep me there a second longer.

And even as I splashed him, water dripping against my eyes, even as I followed him down the street, through the grass and the dirt, shoulders bumping, even as I went home, sat for dinner, burrowed against my sheets, I’d swear I was –still- holding my breath.

-

Bobby Singer had coached Little League for eleven years, before getting particularly attached to a specific batch of overactive kids and ending up stuck with them and a job at the local high school.

Not that anyone minded, really, there were few people loved the way Coach Singer was loved by his boys.

“I never got to be a father,” he’d said on their graduation day, “but I did end up with a bunch of pain in the ass kids anyway.”

And now, with college just a summer away and fall right around the corner, he’d made it his mission to recruit them all at least once a week for a (not so) friendly game of good, ol’ American football.

Needless to say, it had never been my scene.

“I can’t believe you’re going to see the band of brothers roll with each other in the dirt. You’re so whipped it’s borderline pathetic, Clarence.”

I frowned, flipped the page of yet another notebook.

“I’m not going for Dean, I’m going for Sam, who I haven’t seen in a week. Dean played a hundred games all through high school, and I don’t recall having attended even one of them.”

She smirked: “Of course not, it was the Winchester love fest, too much for your delicate eyes.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I’m also right.”

I glared, placed the leathery journal back on its shelf.

“I may have a crush, but my life doesn’t revolve around him, you know. I have more self-respect than that.”

She snorted: “Says who?”

“Meg.”

I turned my back to her, engulfed in yet another set of paper.

“C’mon, you know I was only teasing you. But now I’ll stop, because I like you enough to leave you alone when you’re being a piss baby.”

I rolled my eyes: “How very kind of you.”

The counter screeched as she leaned on it: “You found what you’re looking for? Also, _what_ are you looking for?”

I sighed, kept scrolling through dozens of dusty pages: “Contact information of Mark of Cain Co., a cutlery and beekeeping independent company.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

I shrugged: “I swear almost anything Crowley does business with sounds either fake or illegal.”

“Or both.”

I huffed a laugh: “Or both.”

Then, after a moment: “You could come with, you know?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“At the game, I mean, I’m sure you could find a way to entertain yourself.”

She smirked: “Alright, I’ll consider it.”

She, of course, never came.

Dean’s team lost by not-so-few points, from what I gathered.

Truth be told, I’d spent most of the game listening to Sam’s recounting of his week helping Jo at the Roadhouse.

“Then, she taught me how to play pool, and wiped the table with me, may I add.”

“I thought your dad had tried before, what changed?”

He shrugged, cheeks a bit more colored than usual: “Uhm, circumstances?”

“Is that what we’re calling it, now?” Kevin chimed in.

Sam frowned, blushed deeper: “See, that’s why I never tell you anything.”

Kevin rolled his eyes: “Dude, you tell me everything. You’re like a puking feelings-machine.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“An idiot with a 121 i.q., I think I’ll live.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but hid a smirk.

We were the last ones to leave, with promises to meet again just after dinner.

“Do you think it would be weird to date a friend? A close one.”

I looked at him, head tilted: “I guess it would depend on the friend.”

Sam sighed, thoughtful: “Right.”

I wanted nothing more than to shake Sam, tell him to stop questioning his own happiness so much, that if anyone deserved a sappy, typical high school romance that was him, so he should just stop getting in his own way, but in the car, as we were approaching home, Dean beat me to it.

“Look, Sammy, you need to think less and do more of what makes you happy. You wanna go big and date Jo? Do it! You will probably die by the hands of Ellen Harvelle, but I couldn’t imagine anyone who’d fit the role of tragic hero better than you.”

Sam mumbled an unintelligible reply, then turned to the window.

“What about you, Cas?” Dean asked, then, “What’s your love life like?”

There was an edge there, one I couldn’t put my finger on.

I shrugged: “Uneventful.”

“Just like the game, huh?”

“I wouldn’t say so. It was quiet eventful, for the other team.”

Dean snorted: “Didn’t really expect you to come, you never have before.”

That was new.

I had always been the one catching glimpse of Dean at any given opportunity, taking note of the empty spaces he left when he didn’t show up.

For the first time, I began to entertain the thought that it went the other way, as well.

“Sam insisted.”

A blush crept up his neck, bright and pink above the collar of his t-shirt.

“Of course.”

The Impala rolled into the driveway as the sun waved goodbye.

I didn’t take the time to wave back.

-

“Truth or dare, Castiel?”

Heaven seemed to get quieter, whenever we played. Vibrant in its expectations.

“Truth.”

Almost as if it was rooting for you, howling winds like anthems.

“What is the weirdest, most obscene thing you have seen at The Deal? Crowley doesn’t count.”

Someone laughed, I simply paused to focus on the question at hand.

“Actually,” I began “I’ve signed a confidentiality contract, and am not allowed to this kind of disclosure.”

Jo wined: “C’mon, man!”

“I’m sorry, I will say that it came in purple, and was double headed.”

“Not fair!”

I shrugged, as the game’s attention turned to Victor. He chose dare.

“Alright, motherfuckers. No kinky shit.”

Next to me, Dean leaned in, his breath soft and warm against my skin.

“Did he really make you sign a freaking contract?”

I turned to him, breath now grazing my cheek: “No. But I’d feel guilty, not to mention mortified, revealing my discovery.”

He came closer, whispering conspiratorially: “C’mon, buddy. You can tell me, I swear I won’t tell.”

I looked at him, considering.

Then: “A purple, double headed dildo. _Not_ average sized, may I add.”

He blinked once, twice, maybe three times.

“Really?”

I looked away, focusing on the crowd gathering around whatever Victor was doing.

 “No.”

He fell silent for a few seconds, then spat out a laugh.

I smirked.

“You’re such a little shit.”

Someone, then, called his name.

“Truth or dare, Winchester?”

“You know me, Henricksen; I’m always up for a little action.”

The challenge, or _little action_ , as Dean had called it, was to climb up the ferris wheel, stay ten minutes dangling in the old thing.

“ _But_ , since I’m a gracious gentleman, you can bring a companion.”

Dean rolled his eyes: “Gracious my ass,” then winked at me, “what do you say, Cas? Up for an adventure?”

So, of course, half an hour later I was sever feet from the ground, shifting in the worn, bug-chugged wooden seats.

“It’s not so bad up here.” I said, but Dean was silent, imperceptibly shivering.

“Dean, are you alright?”

He looked at me, threw me a half-hearted smile.

“Sure, I just- I’m not really a fan of, uhm, heights.”

“You have vertigo.”

He grimaced: “Not exactly, it has more to do with being trapped in a metal box twenty feet from the ground than _actually_ being twenty feet from the ground.”

“Oh.”

I placed a hand on his forearm, squeezing gently.

“I think I can see our houses from here.”

“You do?”

I nodded, pointed two random lights in the distance.

“And I am pretty sure” I said moving my finger, “That’s the school.”

“How do you know?”

“I am kind of a geography genius, before my family moved here, I memorized the map of the city, and now it’s here, sculpted in my memory forever. It’s not a really useful talent, except for the fact that I practically have a perfect sense of orientation. It came particularly in handy when me and my sister got lost in the woods.”

Dean snorted, erupting in a fit of laughter:  “You’re so full of bullshit.”

I grinned back: “What makes you think that?”

“Y’ know, the genius part was actually believable, I mean, you’re pretty damn smart, but you kinda went too far with the forest thing.”

“That part is true, actually.”

He looked at me, lips still turned upright.

“You’re shitting me.”

“I would never.”

“C’mon!”

I leaned back against my seat, our shoulders no longer touching.

“It wasn’t a forest, exactly. It happened when we were still back in New York, and Anna used to spend any given afternoon in Central Park, looking for new corners to paint and sketch. One day, we got lost, and our father had to call the police. Anna was distraught, she’d been so scared something might have happened to me, but I only remember being tired. I was with her, so I felt safe no matter what.”

He gave me a look, then, like he’d been brightened from the inside. I didn’t think about how he might have been wearing it for some time.

 “You guys are pretty close, huh?”

I shrugged: “She practically raised me.”

“Yeah, I know that feeling. Back when my dad was still in service, he’d be gone weeks at a time, and Mom worked two jobs, so. Dirty diapers and dinner fell on me, don’t know how despite that Sammy turned out so good.”

“I think,” I murmured, head leaning more and more towards his, “I think that wit and pleasantness may be innate, but your brother’s kindness, his confidence- that’s probably been all you, Dean.”

We were close, so close then, and he was leaning in- closer, closer, closer still.

For a fleeting moment, I thought- he could kiss me.

“Dean!”

A voice, then another and another.

“Time is up guys, hope you’re still one piece.”

I murmured back, only for me to hear: “Kind of.”

Next to me, Dean let out a breathy laugh nonetheless.

-

“I like the second trilogy just fine.”

“Yes, because you’re a _heathen_.”

“Excuse me if I refuse to deny the existence of almost nine hours of cinematography.”

“Well, I will. Proudly!”

“God, you sound just like my brother.”

Kevin shrugged, threw more popcorn into his mouth: “Speaking of, where is he? I feel like with him here I’d actually win this argument.”

“First of all, there’s no argument, second of all: what am I, his secretary?”

Kevin rolled his eyes: “I can’t believe we still haven’t decided what to watch.”

“We have,” I chimed in, “I just put on the first Lord of the Rings.”

He beamed: “Wise choice, man. That’s why you’re always in charge of our movie nights.”

“I’m always in charge because, if we left it up to you two, there’d be no movie night at all.”

Sam chuckled, handing me a soda.

The night went on as the movie did, pleasantly.

It was past two in the morning when Dean stumbled home, with heavy steps and an even heavier tongue.

“Cas? Whatcha doin’ here, man? Am I hallucinaten’?”

I stilled, whispered: “I’m getting a glass of water, me and Kevin are staying the night.”

He frowned: “Like a sleepover?”

I shrugged: “I guess.”

“I’d like to have a sleepover with you.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

And then, he burst out laughing.

Oh.

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m drunk, you’re cute, what’s new?”

I actually chuckled at that.

“Alright, as amusing as this is, I think we might have to take you to bed.”

“You’re taking ‘nitiative. I like that.”

I could feel my cheeks heating up, turning shade after shade of crimson: “I- I didn’t mean it like that.”

He took a step back then, passed a hand through his hair.

“Oh, I-no. Yeah, I know, I mean,” he sighed, but kept blubbering, “I know. And I’m drunk and a mess and please- _please_ don’t hate me.”

I tilted my head, then: “I don’t hate you, Dean.”

“Oh. Good. That’s good.”

I chucked again, then: “You know, I like drunk you.”

He smiled softly, leaned closer again. I could smell the alcohol. Tequila, probably.

“Do you?”

I nodded: “Very much.”

“You know,” he mumbled, “it’s not just drunk me that thinks you’re cute. Like, frustratingly cute.”

I thought, then –again, _he could kiss me, I could kiss him_.

Before I could process any of that, he turned to the sink and threw up.

-

There’s been a time, when I was five or six years old- it had been Mother’s Day, I believe, and I had convinced myself the reason _my_ mother was gone, was me.

I felt guilty, as if her departure had somehow been my fault, and I could feel it, that guilt, eating at my young, tender flesh, threatening to devour me out of existence.

That, in a child, obviously translated in glossy eyes and trembling lips, and the utmost mortification of every family member I had left.

It was my father to put an end to it, who explained how my mother hadn’t left me of her own volition, but had died, and how very different the two things were.

That was also the first time I was allowed in my father’s office, up my father’s plush, deep red, leather chair, on my father’s knee- his handkerchief softly drying any tears I had left.

None of my siblings had been present for that: Michael and Luc no longer at home, Anna and Gabriel lost somewhere in the house.

As I closed the door behind me, though, I was surrounded by a whirlwind of red hair and affection, my sister’s comforting scent keeping me afloat.

I never had a mother, not even any real memories of her, but I’d always had Anna, never having to learn the difference between the two.

My father was kind, but distant, and as for my other siblings, it seemed we’d never taken the time to actually be a family.

Michael and Luke already off to boarding school before I was even born, and Gabriel’s love, although deep, had always been volatile, lost in between one too many adventures and exotic dreams.

Anna had always been the only family I’d needed, though; Dean Winchester, so many years later, would be the first one I wanted.

-

Late July and I learned what it’s like to have your heart broken.

It had been a gradual process, I think, one that had taken roots so many years prior I almost didn’t even recognize it as such.

Nothing really happened that night, slow fires and slower music paving the way in Victor Henricksen’s backyard.

Big, white wooden chairs settled in small circles and red plastic cups lazily scattered across the grass, wet and cold from the late evening air.

And Charlie laughing along with Kevin over something or another, Jo and Sam tucked in a corner trading kisses- how _everyone had seen it coming, that one_ , and Benny grumbling under his breath and Dean.

Dean with his wide grin and gruff voice and, oh.

He’s singing.

It was like being trapped in a queen bee’s den, molasses dripping from each and every corner, clinging at my skin, getting under it and inside, between my arteries that now tasted, smelt, felt like Dean Winchester.

No part of me existed, I realized, that didn’t thrum along with his being.

Dean caught my eye, winked at me.

Sadness squeezed around my heart, slow and warm and steady: just like honey.

-

Third time’s the charm, they say.

Whoever _they_ are, however, I had never believed them.

The old railway trail glaring at me under the scolding sun.

Me glaring back.

Gabriel had built so many expectations around the game, that the fact that it had somehow betrayed each and every one _I_ had had, seemed like a prank of Gabe himself.

Same old spot, same old people, same old recipe.

Charlie had invited me along, this time, something about catching up and telling me everything about her hot ‘n’ heavy date with Dorothy Bauer.

“She’s so badass, I swear.”

Everyone was lines up, shoving at each other, stepping out of their clothes.

Ash was the first to dive in.

“Reminded me of Meg for a second and I began to question my taste for twisted brunettes.”

Pam went second, Victor and Benny cheering for her, cold soda spattering out of their cans.

I could see Dean behind them, standing stiff behind them

“But once you get to know her, she’s actually very sweet, kind of an idealist at heart.”

He was next, apparently.

Charlie and I turned towards the border, as she kept talking.

“Sweet and good with ropes, which is a bit weird, but I could have my fun with that I suppose.”

And then, then I wasn’t listening anymore, or maybe Charlie had stopped talking at all, because it was Dean’s turn, and he  was taking my wrist, squeezing once, and his lips were on mine.

Fleeting and soft and over way too soon, before I even had time to kiss back, to touch his shoulder his chest, his face, anything.

He was jumping, then, and I was in the air behind him, Charlie urging me off the bridge.

In the water, his tongue had the taste of the river.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave kudos, comments and suggestions below and I'll love you forever.  
> Part two is coming soon (I hope!), and if you have a summer romance trope you'd like to read, let me know and I'll see if it can be added!  
> Also, English is not my first language, so feel free to correct and please forgive any mistakes!


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